Page 57 of The One Timer

Gran clears her throat. “Why don’t you two dance before your staring makes us all uncomfortable.”

The others in the small group laugh and I realize I’m surrounded by some of the top management from the family’s company. I look around for Uncle Walt and my sister Kathleen, knowing they’ll be joint at the hip because he’s treated her like a daughter since our parents passed. I find them at the center of another knot of people not far away.

Then I look back at Emery. She’s still staring at me and the power of knowing that infuses me with some kind of high that I’ve never felt before, almost like scoring a winning goal, but different, warmer—hotter.

The orchestra starts up an instrumental version of Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You and a frisson of awareness gathers as I take her in my arms.

“This was my parent’s song,” I whisper, and I have no clue why I’m sharing a long-suppressed moment that’s been too painful to recall, of the three of us dancing together at this ball must be fifteen years ago. I clear my throat and bury my face in the sumptuous cloud of her hair, pulling her tighter like I need to hold on to keep from falling apart.

“So special, so romantic… and so sad,” she says into my cheek, her soft smooth skin brushing against mine, the breath from her words soothing the pain of the truth. We move, my body automatically responding to the music and the moment of having her in my arms.

Her gown rustles between us and I separate from her for a beat, my hand running down her arm to hold her hand and then I twirl her around slowly.

Taking her in, the totally of her, not just how off-the-charts gorgeous she is, looking like she stepped out of a painting in her ball gown—or out of a fairytale like Cinderella—but all of her. Her selflessness--the only reason she agreed to come tonight was for Gran. Her sass—fun and without meanness, just enough bite to make me laugh. Her competence and intelligence and her modesty—the fact that she has no pretentions about her super model worthy looks. Everything about her makes me want to hold on tight as I pull her back into my arms even though the song is over.

“That was amazing,” she says, breathless.

“What was amazing? The dance?”

She shakes her head. “Well, yes, but it’s really you. You made the dance amazing, more than a dance.” She softens her voice and moves her hand from my shoulder to cover my heart. “Like a tribute to everything romantic, to your parents.”

I’m frozen in place and time—or so it feels—staring into her eyes, seeing things about myself, the way she sees me and I have this sensation of falling, like I need to catch myself, but I don’t.

The microphone cracks to life and the orchestra leader announces their break, breaking the spell or whatever the hell was holding me frozen, and we separate. The woman with the microphone draws everyone’s attention to my grandmother who is being helped to the small stage by Uncle Walt.

“That should be me up there with her.” I don’t even realize I’ve said the words out loud until Em squeezes my hand.

Gran gives a speech and introduces me. “My grandson would like to say a few words.”

“You would?” Em whispers?

I shake my head. “First, I’ve heard about it, but it’s just like Gran to pull a surprise. I squeeze her hand and then make my way to the stage to a surprising amount of applause. I take the microphone from Gran and wink at her suppressed grin.

“Let’s hear it for the irrepressible Molly O’Malley Whittier. Never has there been a more generous or relentless patron of those who need a hand.” The roar of applause, whistles and shouts for Gran doesn’t surprise me. I glance at her and she arches a brow as I hand the mic back to her so she can graciously accept her praise. It’s the one thing she dislikes most in life—when people give her what she thinks is too much credit.

I return to Emery who is clapping and whistling with the rest of the normally subdued crowd.

“That’ll teach her to surprise me with a microphone,” I say into Em’s ear.

She laughs as the applause dies down and Gran finally speaks again.

“I haven’t been referred to as Molly O’Malley in a very long time. Leave it to my mischievous grandson to resurrect the alliterative mess.” The crowd laughs.

I shout out, “I take after you, Gran.” That elicits a more raucous response, mostly from my teammates.

Gran takes the crowd in hand again, getting serious and wraps up by telling us this is the last dance. She looks at me from the stage and I excuse myself to Em and go to her.

“Have the last dance with me, Gran.” I help her off the stage, but before we turn to the dance floor, she stops me.

“You’re such a thoughtful and kind young man to ask me and I’m so proud of who you are—mischief maker and all—but I’m too far past her prime to dance now, my boy.” She squeezes my hand and I absorb her love and let it overshadow the disappointment, the acknowledgment of her age.

“Why don’t you choose someone more age appropriate?” She nods in Em’s direction and I nod. Uncle Walt tells me well-done and takes Gran’s arm

I nod, but my eyes are already on Emery’s and my feet taking me in her direction where I extend my hand and take hers, plucking her from the crowd like the crown jewel.

Sheryl stands nearby and her hands go to her mouth, then she turns and disappears into the throng.

“What are you doing? We’ve already had our dance. I thought you were going to dance with your grandmother?” Em whispers, a shiver of nerves in her voice as she follows me to the center of the dance floor while the small orchestra plays something slow. Everyone’s eyes are on us, but that doesn’t bother me—or it wouldn’t if it didn’t bother Em.